I Quit
by Darth Skywalker
Summary: Peter Parker: Spider-Man #166. As the Parkers settle in to their new family life, Aunt May, Betty, Liz and Flash are also making some major changes in their lives. Continued from my fic "The Face on the Milk Carton." Please R&R! Thanks!
1. Part One

"**I QUIT"**

**Peter Parker: Spider-Man #166**

**Part One**

_(Note: This story continues from my previous fic, "The Face on the Milk Carton." It also incorporates revelations that were made in my spin-off fic, Kaine: Salvation. You don't need to read the spinoff though, to understand what's going on in this story...you'll get a nice recap soon. If you like Kaine though, I recommend reading it!_

_Further – as far as it relates to Marvel comic, my timeline ignores everything that happened from Sins Past onward, and everything that happened in Marvel from Disassembled onward._

_With that said – ENJOY!)_

Peter Parker hated surprises.

When he was younger, he had spent the majority of his time committed to only a few things – getting an education during the day, taking care of his Aunt May when he came home, and being a superhero at night. Running into surprises had been par the course while engaging in all of these activities, and most of the time, it had been to his great detriment. They usually came in the form of unannounced tuition hikes, sudden health scares, and sneak attacks from men that liked to dress up in outlandish costumes and torment him.

Sure, there had been a few exceptions where he had been what he would call "pleasantly surprised." One was when he had met his wife, Mary Jane Watson, for the first time, expecting her to turn out to be a hideous beast, but actually learning that she was insanely good looking. Another had been when his Aunt had learned of his alter-ego, Spider-Man, and had not only accepted it, but strongly supported it over time. The most recent had been when he had actually been accepted as the new science teacher at his alma mater, Midtown High.

But now, he wasn't sure what to call the situation that presented itself before him. Was this a surprise? Unequivocally. Was it good or bad?

That was the question. It probably depended on one's take of things.

Peter stared at himself. Or more accurately, he stared at a disfigured clone of himself that he thought had disappeared years ago, or had been locked away somewhere. Then he looked from the clone down to his wife, sitting on his couch next to his aunt, with a blanketed bundle in her arms, quietly sleeping. A child.

The child looked to be about a year and half – probably a toddler. He could already make out some of his features in the child – soft cheeks – and she had auburn red hair – something that was clearly common to his wife.

Moments ago, Kaine had just claimed this was Peter and Mary Jane's child. And that he could prove it.

Peter cleared his throat, having finally gotten a chance to digest what he had been told. He took off his tuxedo that he had been wearing to the movie premiere he and his wife had returned from and laid it on the couch. Then he looked at his genetic duplicate, and spoke.

"Kaine...show me your proof," he said simply.

The long haired man pulled a sheet out of his coat and presented it to Peter. "You may have heard of a Reed Richards."

Peter grabbed the paper anxiously and stared at it. There was what looked like a script of DNA results, which Peter figured he could attempt to decipher if he had time, but was not interested at the moment. His eyes fell to the bottom of the page, where he found a note from his friend.

"_Hello Peter – Reed here. I was approached by Kaine and asked to confirm that this was indeed your daughter, and not a clone. After testing this child's DNA, and further running the sample through one of my genetic analysis devices, which can tell me if a certain piece of DNA originates from natural birth or from genetic manipulation, I can say without a doubt, that this is your child. Congratulations to you and Mary Jane, although I'd be very interested in hearing exactly what happened._

_Kaine won't tell me anything. Initially, when he somehow managed to get in, and approached me here at the Baxter Building, I was incredibly hesitant to deal with him as I know he has caused you many problems in the past, and in fact we were ready to apprehend him. However, he has agreed to be tracked by me to ensure that no harm comes to the child and that he does indeed bring her to you. Please call me as soon as you get this message – you have my number."_

Peter folded up the note and now, it began to weigh on him that this was, indeed, real.

Somehow, after almost two years from her birth, his daughter had returned to him.

As Kaine reached out to him, he suddenly slipped and Peter moved out of the way as the big man crashed...and then, Peter noticed platinum blonde hair poking out of Kaine's shaggy brown, long, hair.

Aunt May started giggling, and startled, Peter looked at her, utterly confused. He then looked back at the form on the ground, which was now groaning, only to find that he was not staring at Kaine, but instead...

...Felicia Hardy, better known as the Black Cat, pulling a wig off of her head and trying unsuccessfully to free herself from what looked like a stack of coats that were too big for her.

"Felicia?" yelled Peter. "What the hell?"

"Surprise, Spider," she whispered, as she tried to stand up, and fell back down again. She cursed, and then looked at Aunt May. "Oh, and by the way...this was Kaine's idea...he figured it might be a good idea to...you know...ease the tension of the moment for you and Red there, if I came in disguised as him."

Mary Jane, for her part, was relieved. She hadn't ever been the biggest fan of Kaine, and knowing that he wasn't really the one in their apartment made her feel much better. She cracked "Nice legs there, honey," as Felicia worked on removing her trousers (under which were a pair of jeans), only to reveal awkwardly placed stilts attached to Felicia's shoes.

Peter let out a deep sigh as he joined his Aunt on the couch. "Good God," he said. "The guy has a weird sense of humor." He looked at his still-struggling friend. "And only you would be weird enough to go along with something like this...but OK...while you get your bearings together there..." Aunt May was now helping her out of her disguise.

"So just where the hell _is_ Kaine anyway? And is this really my daughter?" Peter was utterly confused, tired, and felt a headache coming on.

Before Felicia could say anything, a faint noise came from the bundle that was in Mary Jane's arms, and then the noise amplified.

His daughter was christening her inaugural trip to her new home with a long, loud sob.

For a moment, Peter wanted nothing more than to put his head in his hands and exclaim something to the effect of "Oh brother. This is going to be a _long_ night," but then the magnitude of this moment weighed on him.

_Dammit, this is your daughter. You know how badly you've wanted to do this._

And with that, Peter brushed aside his feelings of confusion and fatigue, stood up, took the child from his wife, and began to sing her back to sleep.

Within minutes, Peter's off-key lullaby-ing was beginning to have the desired effect.

As Felicia watched in awe, commenting that she had tried to do just that all day and had found the only way to put the child to sleep was if she left her alone in a room, Aunt May produced a bottle of milk from her purse and handed it to Peter, who clumsily placed the bottle in his child's mouth and was surprised to see it accepted, despite the fact that the kid had her eyes closed.

Mary Jane watched all this with what seemed to Peter to be a sense of overwhelming pride in her husband. As Peter took all of this in, he sat back down on the couch as Felicia finally got the last of her disguise off, and took a chair along with Aunt May.

Peter, holding his daughter, looked at Felicia intently, and deadpanned, "You know I hate surprises," which produced a big smile from his wife and aunt, and a look of annoyance from Felicia. Then Peter nodded. "All right. Now tell me what really happened. No jokes this time."

**Well True Believers, there you have it! Just the FIRST PART of Issue #166 of "I Quit," the latest in the ongoing "Peter Parker: Spider-Man" series we decided to continue back in 2004, when the original series went defunct. Originally, we entitled this one "Explanations," but as you'll soon see, we figured our new title might be more appropriate.**

**In the next part, say hello to some friends we haven't seen in a long time...namely...Flash Thompson and Liz Allan Osborn! The last time we saw them, Flash Thompson was coming out of a coma, and showed signs of brain activity in the Spectacular Spider-Man series by Paul Jenkins, and Liz was spending most of her time taking care of him, while also taking care of her now-first-grade age son, Normie. Just before the events in Peter Parker: Spider-Man #44, she was hired by a local pharmaceutical company to take the reins as the CEO and so professionally, she is recovering marvelously from Norman Osborn's firing of her years ago from Oscorp, when he "returned from the dead."**

**But what are these two up to now? Find out in the next part of this series!**

**AND PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks.**


	2. Part Two

"**I QUIT"**

**Peter Parker: Spider-Man #166**

**Part Two**

"Okay, this is it. You sure you can do this?"

Flash Thompson closed his eyes and nodded.

This was it.

It was time to get up.

It had been almost a year since the accident that had reduced Flash to what he was now, a wheelchair bound cripple. Apparently, based on the police report, late one night he had been drunk behind the wheel of a semi truck owned by his employer, Norman Osborn, and had crashed it into Midtown High, his alma mater. It had sent him into a coma for eight months, but then about four months ago his brain had begun showing signs of activity, and he had slowly recovered to the point where he could now fully function and remember almost everything...except what happened during the accident. It was somewhat disturbing to him that he had to rely on second hand accounts to figure out just what had happened. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or if it was permanent brain damage.

Part of what had been incredibly annoying was not having control over the situation. Flash had grown up all of his life trying to dodge other people's attempts to pin him down – and ruefully, he figured this had been what had led him to become a heavy drinker – the attempts to gain control. _And you see where _that _got you_.

Oh, and there was the matter of him not being able to stand on his own two feet, and walk – but he planned on changing that right here, right now.

He stared straight ahead, concentrating hard. If he was ever going to get even a fraction of his old life back, then right at this moment, he needed to put aside all his anxieties, all of his doubts, all of his guilt, and all of his self-pity and just _do this_.

He closed his eyes, and then he let his nerves guide him.

He left the wheelchair...and stood up, starting to mentally count. _One...two...three...four..._

He remained standing. _Five...six...seven...eight_...

The count continued...when he passed eight, he sat back down in the wheelchair and let out a sigh, smiling. Instantly, applause broke out and he looked around his apartment, startled, as he saw twenty other people clapping for him enthusiastically, having all apparently popped out of his bedroom and now standing in his apartment's living room.

He looked at the person who had been talking to him earlier. His old friend, Liz Allan Osborn. The one person, perhaps more than anyone, who had refused to blame Flash for his condition and had sacrificed any moment where she was not working or tending to her now seven-year-old son, Normie, to be with him. She had been sitting next to him the day he had come out of his coma. She had paid for almost all of his medical bills. She had personally taken over his physical therapy. She was paying for this apartment.

And now, apparently, she was in the surprise party business.

"Liz," he whispered. "How did you..." He looked back at the group of people that stood before him.

His mother. His sister. Seymour O'Reilly. Tiny McKeever. Jason Ionello. Normie. Betty Brant. Ben Urich. Big John Anderson. Caryn Earle. Glory Grant. Tommy Williams from his AA group. His buddies from the church.

Flash Thompson had been through a lot in his life, but he couldn't take it. Pangs of guilt and humiliation washed over him, and tears began pouring down his face.

Immediately, Liz knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, and began comforting him. "Shhh..."

He softly nudged her away, wiped the tears away with his arm, and looked at his friends and family. "Guys...please...just go away," he said. "I don't know why you came. There's nothing to celebrate here. I'm just closer to becoming a risk again to the world. I'm a freakin' screwup." He paused. "None of you should be wasting your time on me...a serial drunk." He steeled himself, and then he bitterly added, "I probably deserve to suffer even worse the next time I get into a drunk driving accident."

His mother gasped, and his sister shouted "Eugene!" Then, from out of the now-somber crowd of people gathered, a mustachioed figure made his way to Flash, looking determined. Flash's stomach churned, as Liz stepped away from him.

The man wore a trench coat, with a suit and tie underneath, and black trousers and dress shoes.

There could be no doubt – this was a cop.

Flash sniffed. "You're here to arrest me, aren't you," he said. "That's fine. Let's just get it over with. I knew I'd eventually have to face the music for what I've done. God knows I'm lucky no one was in that classroom the day I drove into there. Thank God I can't remember anything."

The cop kneeled down, looked at him sadly, and then smiled. "Mr. Thompson," he said, kind of reminding Flash of Chuck Norris in his speaking style. "I'm not here to arrest you."

"What?" Flash asked, confused. "What are you talking about? I-"

The cop smirked and put a hand on his shoulder. "Detective Neil Garrett." He gestured back to all that were present. "I'm more than familiar with everyone else that's present here today." Then he turned back to Flash. "Mr. Thompson, the reason I came here, besides wanting to congratulate you on your remarkable recovery, is because I have some news that I legally have the burden of giving you." In a lowered tone, the cop added, "Brace yourself for this."

_What could this possibly be?_

"Flash," he said, stepping back and looking him straight in the eye. "You obviously have no memory of what took place the night you were found, intoxicated, critically injured, behind the wheel of a semi truck licensed to Osborn industries. Our official police record indicated that you were at fault here."

He lowered his tone again, and narrowed his eyes. "But shortly after, while you were in a coma, we found something that changed all that."

He looked back at the crowd. "As I said, I know everyone here, because I've told them what actually happened that night. But we've all been asked to keep it from you...until now."

Flash's eyes widened. "Wait...you mean...I..."

Garrett smiled mirthlessly. "Yes," he said, producing a damaged little remote of some sort from his pocket. "We found this at the crash site. Interestingly enough, I had our techs take a look at this, and we found that it seems to be a remote control device of some sort, tailored specifically for semis...typically, it has a counterpart that is controlled at another end, from a remote location. The idea is, you can control a vehicle remotely."

He sniffed. "Believe it or not, Flash," he said. "The conclusion my investigation has come to, is that someone from Osborn Industries force-fed you with alcohol that night and then controlled your vehicle so that it would crash into Midtown High School. In other words, sir, you were not at fault – but someone else is – and set you up. And while we have a pretty good idea, we intend on confirming who that is."

Flash was stunned. He looked around at everyone, unsure what to say at first, then found the words. "Why didn't you guys just tell me?" he demanded.

Tommy Williams spoke up. "Listen pal," he said, "When I found out, I wasn't sure how to feel. I mean, do I think 'Oh yay, my friend didn't relapse,' or do I go, 'Big deal, it doesn't change what happened?' And then eventually, all of us decided that if you found out too early in your rehab, it might...I dunno...cause you too much distress. Maybe the shock might be too much on you."

Flash responded furiously. "So you guys lied to me?" he yelled. "Made me continue to think of myself as an alcoholic?"

Ben Urich stepped forward. "Easy, son," he said, holding up his hands. "I don't think anyone here has ever told you were a drunk, you were responsible, or anything of the sort. We just weren't sure how you would react when you found out this was someone else's fault, and we wanted to be sure you were of a clear mind and body before we told you." He then nodded politely at him. "Now that you're all set, as Detective Garrett said, the decision is in your hands...do you want to open up a criminal investigation into your accident?"

Flash calmed down, instantly regretful. He turned his wheelchair towards the window, his back to everyone. "I...I gotta digest this." He paused, looking outside, and then continued. "You're right Tommy, the shock is too much...hell, I can barely deal with it right now." He chuckled and turned back to face everyone, a little more composed now. "Well, thanks for coming, everyone. I'm sorry I went all freak-out on ya there. I'm glad I got people like you all in my life."

After that, the big group slowly began leaving, with everyone stopping by, talking to each other occasionally, but coming over and congratulating Flash and offering their support, with Flash's mother and sister leaving last, after the elder woman had to be pulled away from offering any more apologies for being such a bad mother.

Finally, about half an hour later, Liz Allan was the only one who remained, along with her son. Flash looked at her, and smiled. "I ever tell you you're amazing?"

She smirked. "Sure! Only about a thousand times, mostly when you wanted to get in my pants back in senior year."

Flash roared with laughter, before realizing Normie was still there. He stopped laughing and shushed Liz, his eyed widening in embarrassment. Then he pointed to his bedroom. "Hey Normie, listen, uh, why don't you go watch some cartoons! Channel 30! You like Blues Clues, don't ya?"

Liz watched adoringly as her son ran off, leaving the two of them alone. Flash sighed in relief, then chided his friend. "Whew...you gotta be careful what you say around the kid, Liz!"

She smiled sadly, recalling the past. "Unfortunately Flash, he's seen and heard worse."

His face darkened and he looked away, as he instantly knew she was talking about Harry and the turbulent relationship she had maintained with him before his untimely death...and how her son had grown up amidst all of that. "Yeah...I guess we all have." Then he turned back to her.

"Listen, Liz...I'm gonna do it," he said firmly, clasping his hands together. "I'm gonna pursue the investigation. I gotta close the book on this. Otherwise...I'm going to spend the rest of my life wondering, you know? Just who the hell did this to me? Why would they do it to me? Who hated me that much?"

He was silent, lost in thought, before Liz interrupted.

"Flash," she said, placing a hand on his. "I have a good idea of who did this to you. There's only one person who could be capable of something like that, and the dots all connect." She stopped. "I don't know if you're ready to hear it right now, though. But I'll tell you this much." She knelt down until she was square with him in the eyes, and she continued to hold his hands. "I've seen you come so far. You deserve justice. But you won't be alone...because I quit my job earlier this morning."

"_What?_" Flash exclaimed. "Liz...why would you do such a thing?"

She began tearing up again, and suddenly she threw her arms around him. Flash was utterly confused as he heard Liz sobbing. He heard her whisper to him, "I'm sorry if you're not ready to hear it Flash...forgive me...but I can't help myself...he took the man I love away from me...and he almost did it again...Dear God, I hate him...I hate him more than anything on this earth...I can't let him get away with it this time...I have to see this through...enough is enough."

It began to dawn on Flash exactly who and what she was talking about, and as he let the identity of his assailant sink in, he slowly pulled Liz away, looked at her and whispered, "Together then, we'll make sure he pays." He then surprised himself as he leaned in closer and suddenly, it was like they were back in school again as their lips locked and they kissed passionately-almost desperately, Flash thought.

Much unlike high school though, what was amazing was how her fear and his anger, towards the same person, had both bubbled to the surface, to produce such a moment where they sought solace in each other.

As if the world was closing in on them, and they were all that the other had.


	3. Part Three

"**I QUIT"**

**Peter Parker: Spider-Man #166**

**Part Three**

It was a beautiful fall day outside. The sun shone brightly, and the weather was unusually warm for October. Skies were clear, the crowds in the streets were bustling with excitement, and to any casual observer in New York, one could say that things were looking great.

That couldn't be farther from the truth though, in the publisher's office at the _Daily Bugle._

J. Jonah Jameson Jr. stared outside, cigar in his mouth, door closed, door-curtains drawn, elbows propped up against the windowsill, and hands resting against his temples.

The latest circulation reports had just come in for the last month, and while he had done his best to keep morale high after seeing the declining circulation numbers over the last year, the numbers that he saw today were just too much.

He had decided a while ago that 2% drops on a month to month basis would be OK…but then after the month that had passed by, with a record high number of jobs lost and the unemployment rate surpassing 10%…he had dreaded today. And sure enough, the report that was sitting on his desk, abandoned, revealed this past month's drop:

_10%_.

Jameson had been known as, and prided himself on being, a loud, abrasive, go-getter who got things done, by hook or by crook. Because of this, he knew that half the workforce probably couldn't stand him. But deep down inside, he really did care for a lot of them. They worked hard for him, and it was a testament to the ability of the people and the team he Robbie Robertson had built over the last 20 years that the paper had continued to do so well over the last 3 years when publications were shutting down left and right, all across the city and country.

But now, it seemed even the _Bugle_ was no longer immune.

And he was going to have to make a tough decision, and figure out how to do it while maintaining his "hard-ass" facade. Three hours ago, after receiving the report, he spent the first hour madly doing calculations on the notepad that now lay on his desk, abandoned, trying to think of numerous ways he could absorb this hit, but after an hour, he had accepted defeat and realized he was going to have to lay someone off. Then he spent the next hour after that pulling his list of employees and seeing if there were enough new employees he could convert to temps, perhaps institute a hiring freeze, perhaps cut the heating and electricity in the building, perhaps cut the page size, perhaps go all black and white, perhaps increase the ads, perhaps…give in.

And so, for the last hour, he had left everything on the table, pulled himself to the window, and grappled with the conclusion he had come to: the only way to get through this was that he was going to have to fire one of his reporters, without cause, for the first time in his history as publisher.

God _dammit_.

What's worse, it was going to have to be Farrell.

He really liked the girl and admired the seriousness with which she took the job (and of course, he wouldn't be caught dead letting her see or know that). Known as "Kat" around the office, she reminded him a lot of Urich when he had first started at the paper, and he recalled shortly after she put out the Human Torch piece that the man himself had started to give her mentoring and guidance, something which had allowed Jameson to see that she was "for real." The kid had done a great job of covering the "superhero beat" and had developed a nice little following.

The problem was that there was no combination of expenses he could cut, and no combination of employees below her that he could cut, that made up for the amount of savings he'd recoup if he let her go. For whatever reason, the compensation drop after Farrell on the list of salaries was huge, and the next person above her made about 30% more.

He tried to talk himself out of feeling guilty. "Ah, come on you sissy," he said out loud. "She's young. She's got her whole life ahead of her. She'll do fine. If you don't do anything this month though, next month if this keeps up, everyone, including you, will be in the same boat. You gotta do it."

"Do what, Mr. Jameson?"

"Whozzat!" Jonah jumped up, startled, and lunged for his desk as he quickly covered up the reports and his papers by throwing his body on them. He looked up to find Betty Brant, his former secretary and current investigative report, suppressing a giggle, and Jonah immediately snapped out of his depression.

"Miss Brant, haven't I told you to knock? You of all people should know this! You've been around here longer than anyone except Phil!" he yelled, trying to distract her as he slowly slid the reports under himself straight down into the trashcan underneath his table.

"Um…sorry sir…I, ah, actually had been knocking for the last ten minutes. I kind of got worried, so I walked in to make sure you were OK. I think you had your hands on your ears…"

"Well," Jonah harrumphed, getting his bearings back together as he moved off of his desk and straightened up, dusting himself off. "Even so, you know I work hard in here all day, thinking about how to make sure this paper keeps thriving in these rough economic times! You all should be thankful that a man like me is around caring so much about the welfare of all of you! Without me, God forbid, everyone might be out there shaking coffee cups, begging for change, playing crappy polka tunes, or even worse, painting yourself silver and doing strange robot dances! Don't you forget it, Miss Brant!"

She nodded, still trying to hide her smile.

"Well, what else did you come in here to bother me for? Get back to work if you've got nothing useful to say!" he demanded.

"Actually, Mr. Jameson, I uh, needed to talk to you privately. It's pretty urgent," she said.

Jonah pointed to the chair and narrowed his eyes._ Is my day going to go from worse to hell?_

He grabbed his cup of coffee, took a sip, made a face, and pointed at Betty. "Hold on. This coffee sucks."

She stood up and tried offering to get him a new cup, but she was too late as Jonah yelled at the top of his lungs, "MISS GRANT!"

Immediately, Glory Grant, Jonah's secretary, appeared out of nowhere, apologizing profusely as she grabbed the cup from Jonah and ran outside, then a minute later reappeared with a smoking new cup, and then ran outside again as she closed the door.

"Now," Jonah said gruffly, looking at Betty while adjusting his cigar. "Talk."

Betty sighed, looked down, and then she looked up at Jonah. "Mr. Jameson…I've been working for this paper for twelve years now, and you've been like a father to me. I can't thank you enough for everything you've done. But I have to tell you…"

She looked down again, and Jonah was now confused. He mentally reviewed in his mind if he had gone too much over the top any time as of late, and couldn't remember if he had…maybe she had been offended by the Nixon tie he had come in wearing one day…these damn liberal hippie kids-

"…I'm giving my two weeks. I've been offered a position somewhere else, and I've decided I'm going to take it."

Jonah's jaw dropped and the cigar fell to the floor. For a second, he gaped at Betty. Then he immediately recovered as he processed what she had said.

The decision he had been agonizing over for the last 3 hours had in fact, just been made for him.

Betty looked at him nervously, and he could see in her eyes that she was expecting him to go berserk, as she knew him better than anyone except his wife and Robbie, and had seen his outbursts over the years whenever he had been betrayed or felt that someone had abused his fierce sense of loyalty.

But for whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to go through that this time. He found it quite odd.

Jonah slowly moved down to pick up his cigar, put it in the ashtray on his desk, and then stood up and moved to the door and locked it. Betty looked behind her chair at him, confused.

"Stand up, Miss Brant," he said tonelessly.

She stood up, bewildered and almost frightened.

Jonah moved closer to her, and then stunned her (and himself) as he grabbed Betty in a fierce hug, and tears began pouring out of his eyes. Soon, he felt his arms becoming damp from what he could tell right away were the woman's tears. After a few minutes, they finally let go of each other and Jonah wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"You'll be missed, Miss Brant," he finally said, and as she produced a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at her eyes, he looked down, smirking. "But our little talk here…as far as I'm concerned, this never happened."

"Agreed," she said, smiling, and then she opened the door and left Jonah to himself again, but not before closing it behind her per his request.

Jonah returned to his desk, and looked at all the paperwork in the trash. What a waste. He wasn't going to have to fire Farrell after all. But the irony. Betty didn't realize that by quitting, she had just saved the kid's job. Still, that made it no less easier to digest for Jameson.

He still couldn't stop feeling guilty.


	4. Part Four

"**I QUIT"**

**Peter Parker: Spider-Man #166**

**Part Four**

_Earlier that day..._quite_ earlier, in fact_.

"So, tiger...any ideas?"

Peter Parker reluctantly turned away from the spectacular view that he had been drinking in for the last few hours and sighed, smiling tiredly at his wife Mary Jane, who had asked the question.

About six or seven hours ago, the two of them had returned home from a movie premiere for MJ's latest film to find their Aunt and Felicia Hardy, disguised as Peter's clone Kaine (to "ease the tension, she said") with their long lost child, May. Peter and Mary Jane had long thought the kid was either dead or in someone else's hands forever, out of their reach.

Felicia had spent an hour or so explaining the story of how the real Kaine had come to obtain custody of the youngest Parker family member, to the amazement of Peter and Mary Jane. After stunned silence from the new/old parents, the ex-cat burglar had taken her leave of the couple shortly after, leaving Aunt May alone with them. The elderly woman had then suggested the two of them not jump into this right away, by putting their heads together and coming up with a suitable explanation. In other words, trying to explain how it was that the child had just miraculously shown up was not going to be easy.

And so the two of them had left the two Mays together for the rest of the night and had made their way up here, to the 85th floor of the Empire State building, to have a "brainpower breakfast," as Peter had put it to MJ, on a Columbus Day Monday, meaning no school for Peter and no assignments for MJ. They had come up here many times before, as one of the perks of being a wall crawling superhero was the ability to sneak in and out of many places high and low that would otherwise be restricted. Many years ago, they had settled on some random CEO's executive suite on this floor which had a spacious window view and a wide open floor area, without desks or chairs or tables that he presumably used to pace around. Peter and MJ had used the open area for other things, amongst them attempting to learn salsa a few years back, joint meditation sessions, _other..."_joint sessions", and more than anything else, what they were doing right now:

7 AM, just before sunrise, bringing up some of their favorite carryout, sitting down on the carpeted floor side by side, and enjoying a nice private breakfast together while gawking over the view. Sometimes they would talk. Sometimes they would argue. Sometimes they would joke. Sometimes they would vent. And other times, they came here to try and finalize important decisions in their life.

Like right now.

Peter shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry...hard to concentrate when you're watching _that_."

He pointed back to where he had been looking, and Mary Jane gasped.

Sunrise.

As Peter put down his bagel, his wife cozied up next to him and put her head on his shoulder.

"Oh Tiger...you know, this part never gets old...what was it you always said?"

Peter chuckled. "_With each sunrise, we start anew_," he stated, trying to sound important. "And since it's attributed to no one, I'm claiming it."

Mary Jane playfully punched her husband, smiling as the two fell silent, watching the sun rise and thinking about the validity of the quote. The irony, however, was that today was in fact a new start for both of them.

After a few minutes, Peter broke the silence. "I think there's only one way this is going to work, honey," he said softly, his smile disappearing and his expression becoming serious as he turned to his wife.

Mary Jane looked at her husband intently. "I'm all ears."

"Well," he began. "For all intents and purposes...May is dead to the outside world. If we tell people that she has suddenly returned, questions are going to start popping up. So really, we have only one choice..." Peter trailed off, as he turned his attention to his jacket pocket and pulled out a few sheets of paper.

"This is a blank adoption form from the New York State Adoption System...all I have to do is make one call to Matt Murdock and he can create our cover story."

As Mary Jane weighed her husband's words, she started to look crushed and looked down. "OK..." she half-whispered.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, touching his wife's chin gently and tilting her face to his. "Hey," he asked, concerned. "You sure you're OK?"

She sighed, squeezing her husband's hand and ran her fingers through her hair. "Yeah...it's just that...ah, well, it's going to be hard to have to live a lie. I mean, I feel like we're going to be getting robbed of the pride and joy parents get to experience when you get the 'Oh, she has your hair' or the 'Oh, she's got your eyes' or even the 'Oh, she snores just like her dad!'"

Peter rolled his eyes at the last part. Now it was his turn to return the playful nudge, as he smiled.

MJ tried to return it, somewhat half heartedly. "But I guess if there's one thing I've learned from..." she paused as she gestured around to where they were sitting, and the stunning view. "...this, it's that what other people think and what other people know doesn't matter at the end of the day...at all."

Her expression became more determined as she looked her husband in the eye again. "You and I have had to live with your secret for years. If we have to live with another one, then so be it."

Peter nodded. "Thanks for being such a trooper, MJ," he offered. "I wish it could be different...but that's why there's something else I have to tell you."

She froze. "Wait, what do you mean?"

This time it was Peter's turn to look down.

"MJ...you know before May was born, we always talked about what would happen once she was born. And eventually, science made the decision for us, bringing Ben Reilly into our lives and letting us go off into the sunset to get ready for her arrival. And then, that whole thing kind of...fell apart," he paused, his face darkening as he recalled the return of Osborn and the "miscarriage." "Well, we're back to that place again. And so I've decided it's time for a change."

"Peter?" she asked, utterly confused.

"I've done this a million times before, MJ," Peter said, opening up a bag that they had brought with them and pulling out his Spider-Man mask. He stared at it for a moment, twirling it on his index finger. "But events have conspired to make this time different. Now that May is here, you know I have to do this. You've always told me you're willing to risk living as Spider-Man's wife, that you can handle the danger, even if it horrifies you to no end that I might not come back one night." He looked down, his back to MJ. "But May doesn't have that luxury. Not yet, anyway. And so really, there's only one way to go with this. As a father, it's gotta be this way."

He turned back to his wife, who had grown increasingly concerned.

"Spider-Man as the world knows him is finished...I quit."

**TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART FIVE**


	5. Part Five

"**I QUIT"**

**Peter Parker: Spider-Man #166**

**Part Five**

"I just don't want to put my child and my wife at risk by continuing to do this. Like I was telling MJ, she was willing to accept the risk of me cavorting around in my costume. My kid isn't old enough to make that decision yet. So I don't think it's fair to her for me to put her in harm's way."

As Peter Parker finished his explanation, he sipped his coffee and looked at his Aunt expectantly. He and his wife, Mary Jane, had come back to their apartment, and then he and his aunt, May Reilly Parker had headed to Prospect Park with some coffee to discuss this decision while MJ stayed behind to look after Peter and MJ's daughter who had just come back into the couple's life.

Aunt May sipped her own cup and then looked at her nephew, smiling. "Peter dear, you've got to stop being so hard on yourself. Look, I understand that you don't want to put your family at risk. But this city needs someone like you to watch over it."

"But that's just it, Aunt May...I mean, there are so many other heroes now since I first started up...surely they can take care of things in the future, right?"

"Well," she responded thoughtfully. "Have you actually thought about which superheroes are actually in New York? Really, when you get down to it...there's just you, the Avengers, the Fantastic Four...the Black Panther...but other than that, who else?"

"You forgot Daredevil," Peter said half-triumphantly.

Aunt May waved a hand dismissively. "You told me he's the King of Hell's Kitchen now. As far as I'm concerned, he's no superhero."

"Felicia?"

Aunt May rolled her eyes. "Just because she was your ex girlfriend and just because she teams up with the heroes for hire does not make her a viable fill-in for you."

Peter's face reddened and he sighed. "OK...how about the Puma?"

"He's running for mayor," she responded, much to Peter's surprise. "And that reminds me...I've got to tell you something myself, Peter dear."

She became serious and Peter's concern slightly inched up. "As you've probably noticed, I've been quite busy for the last six months or so, and you and Mary Jane have probably been wondering what's going on. Well, I'm about to take a huge step in my life, and I wanted to tell you before I make it official." She smiled briefly at her nephew. "To be honest, I've always seen things around the city that I thought could use improvement, but it's been what you do with your superpowers that inspired me...and also the hope that maybe someone in a high place might be able to speak up for you, to make others appreciate what you do a little more as Spider-Man. That's why I don't want you to retire. At least, think it through before you take this next step. Because, Peter dear, Puma's not the only one who's running for mayor.

"...so am I."

Peter nearly spit out his coffee and his eyes widened in shock. "But-but-but...Aunt May! You're going to be 80 next year!"

The older woman gave her nephew a stern look. "Now, now, Peter," she said. "Ronald Reagan was 70 years old when he was elected President. And besides...I'm taking inspiration from someone else who's done something similar...and is still in office." May dug into her purse and dug out a clipping from an old newspaper that appeared to be from Canada. She presented it to Peter with a flourish. "Hazel McCallion. Mayor of Mississauga, Canada...the country's sixth largest city and currently 89 years old."

Peter exhaled loudly, finally coming to grips with what his aunt had just revealed. "Wow. You're actually serious about this."

May crossed her arms and shot him an angry look this time.

"Okay, okay Aunt May...sorry...OK...look, I, uh...respect your decision...but please be realistic...that's Canada...I mean, one time I stepped on a guy's foot in a Toronto movie theater and _he_ said sorry! Come on now, there's just no comparison between a Canadian city and New York City."

She shrugged. "Well, you have a point. But really, how much worse do you think your old Aunt would be compared to the guy we have running things right now? Aren't you a little tired of all the corruption in that office...the police force being full of active criminals...obscenely high taxes...and as I heard someone say once before...the rent is too damn high."

Peter had to grin at the last line. But then he shook his head. "I don't know Aunt May...I mean...I just don't know. If you're doing this for those reasons...well..." He looked at her. "I guess I can't stop you. And I guess I'll have to vote for you, won't I?" He winked at his Aunt, who chuckled. "But I really hope you're not doing this for me, because like I said...I'm quitting."

May was silent as she looked down, finishing the last of her coffee. Then she looked back up at her nephew as she stood up and grabbed her purse. She kissed him on the forehead as he also got up. "Peter...if you need to look after your daughter, I respect whatever you decide. But maybe you should consider an alternative. I mean...if I were to win, somehow...you and I could probably make our respective lives so much easier if we had each other to depend on."

He thought about it, and that damned voice in his head started to win the day. _I guess you wouldn't _have_ to completely quit. What if you tried something...different...completely different...but in a way, you could still honor your pledge to Uncle Ben...and yet mitigate the risk to MJ and Mayday._

"Well," he said softly. "I did tell MJ that Spider-Man as the world knows him is done. That doesn't mean anything though for Spider-Man as the world _doesn't_ know him."

His Aunt smiled. "Now you're talking, young man."

And as the two of them headed back to Forest Hills, the conversation turned to discussion about how May was going to put her campaign together, how much money she had to raise, and how Peter could help her. But all the while, ideas swirled in Peter's head about his own situation, and by the time he got back home to his wife and daughter from dropping Aunt May back at her place, he had figured it out.

When he had decided to quit, it had been because he didn't want to have to leave his wife and daughter at home every night at the mercy of some nut that knew his secret. He also felt that as he grew older, the risk of dying while in action would increase dramatically and again, he couldn't stand the thought of turning his wife, now with a child, into a widow.

Lastly, the crime rate was extremely down from when he had first started – the murder rate in the city for 2009 was at an all time low. In other words, him being out there with other superheroes and the work of the police force was having a serious impact. Now that the change had been made, perhaps it would be OK for him to step away and let the city reap the benefits of his work, and let the law continue to maintain the status quo.

But...inversely, super-villain activity appeared to be at an all time high. More superheroes had popped up out of the woodwork to try and counter this, but it wasn't helping at all. It just seemed to create more problems. While in New York proper, things were normal, across the country and the globe super-villains were living in a Golden Age of sorts.

And Peter had just figured out the way he could be most effective in helping to counter that...more effectively. It was time to fry bigger fish...but this way, he could do it on his own terms.

As he finished the delicious pot roast his wife had cooked up, he complimented his wife with a kiss, then grabbed his daughter, who giggled at him, with one arm, and grabbed the book he had purchased on the way home with the other, and plopped down on the couch.

"_Consulting 101_."

~/~/~/~/~/~

_Location: Grenada, the Caribbean Islands_

"Sir, I just wanted to thank you again for the opportunity...and I wanted to tell you that I got the modeling contract in New York!"

A man looked up and smiled, staring at the bikini clad figure that had approached him as he had laid on the beach while enjoying the rest of the scenery. _Delicious_...

He had spotted this dropout medical student from St. George's a few years ago shortly after arriving, and just seeing her had inspired him to take up some form of being a Svengali type in the fashion world here, but much lower key, of course than he had once been.

She wound up sleeping with him rather quickly, which was always a fun bonus for him, but the real enjoyment came when he had utilized his contacts and connections back in New York and began to earn kickbacks and referral fees on getting her recognized and promoted here for whatever brands and lines wanted her. And so now, this was most welcome news. He was going to be getting a nice payout for his efforts in "molding" this one. He would miss the fling, but there would be others.

He nodded politely at the girl. "Congratulations...hopefully you'll remember us little people when you strike it big!" She laughed at that, and after engaging in some small talk, the two parted ways.

The man stood up after another hour of working on his tan and stretched. He then trekked back to his beachside villa and reflected on things. He was approaching 50, but he felt as young and as full of life as ever. Since leaving New York, he had really enjoyed life out here. Earning money solely on his reputation without having to do anything, the beautiful weather, the scenery, the women, and the food all exceeded anything he had ever done in that hell hole to the north. His brother had also joined him and was in charge of handling the administrative affairs while he usually secured the business.

Things were positively idyllic. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

And yet, he was getting bored. How long would this last? He would be 50 soon. His wrinkles were starting to become more pronounced. The industry wasn't exactly in the best shape.

As he stepped into his villa, he was consumed with thoughts of wanting more, wanting to preserve things, when he suddenly heard a voice in his head.

"_Believe it or not, you _can _learn how to preserve this lifestyle...forever. I can give you the secret to eternity, unlimited pleasure, Ambitious One."_

The man froze and scratched his head. Was he hallucinating? Maybe he was aging quicker than he thought.

"_No, you are not hallucinating. I am real, but due to the Cosmic Cube, I have been scattered across dimensions and can only manifest myself in this form. It was quite embarrassing, as this incident has become quite well known amongst superheroes and supervillains..."_

His eyes lit up. "Wait a minute...you're..."

"_Yes, indeed you are correct. My name is Korvac. Perhaps you remember that during a fight between the Red Skull and that accursed Captain America, I lost my corporeal form and became essentially powerless. However, I have learned that I can still manipulate space and time...albeit temporarily."_

The man sniffed. "Prove it."

And suddenly, a million images overwhelmed him, almost too fast for his mind to process, and he crumpled to the floor of his home, and then suddenly...gone. Only one image stood out, and suddenly it became clear as to what he was being offered. This guy wasn't BSing him. Wow...if he could attain something like that...

"_So, you believe me now! Good...very good...now...all I ask is that you create the corporeal conditions for me to return...whether in this multiverse, or in another...and you shall have your reward..."_

He staggered to his feet. "What do you want me to do?"

"_It will be rather difficult to create this scenario...especially this time around...but I have no doubt that a man of your business acumen, ambition, power and skill should be able to pull this off. Now, I managed to infiltrate your mind but because of my weak form, I can only last for only a short time more before I will fade out...so let's get down to discussing our scheme...Mr. Kingsley..."_

The man once known as the Hobgoblin smiled to himself, as he and Korvac began formulating a plan.

This was going to be _fun_.

**The HOBGOBLIN is baaaaack! ****What sinister plot will he be devising with the currently powerless Korvac? And what implications will it have for our hero, the wall-crawler? Speaking of which, tune in as you're going to see how exactly Peter's foray into consulting ties into the current status of Spider-Man. Also, Flash and Liz begin their legal pursuit of Norman Osborn...but will they have any success? Finally, let the mayoral debates begin! All this and more, next time in PETER PARKER: SPIDER-MAN #167 – kicking off our next story-arc..."The Difference Between Me and My Opponent..."**

**Oh yeah...PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! I LOVE THE FEEDBACK, GOOD OR BAD, IT'S ALWAYS GREATLY APPRECIATED.**


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